In much the same way as zombies used to always stumble across teenage girls with a penchant for screaming before the eye-candy (and film makers) got wise and began finding uses for sharp objects to shove into brain matter, I hanker after the cloth-capped, moustached middle-aged driver who could be depended upon to act in the same stupid way time after time. It is tempting to explain how much fun and satisfaction I am getting from my writing at the moment (and not just because of erotic scenes) on this blog, but the new type of zombie driver we have here in Suffolk is providing a rich vein of brain-dead foolishness. It is difficult to let it pass.
And so ... I turn off the main road near Bucklesham, onto the road that will take me into the village proper. This junction is situated right by a small primary school that seems to attract a large number of 4x4-owning parents, some of whom have already demonstrated their zombie credentials in amazing ways. Now, whether the zombie who decided to overtake another cyclist just before the junction, and so put themselves on my side of the road, was dropping off the spawn of their loins, I could not tell. All I know is that as long as these cretins keep driving the way they do (and so long as they don't succeed in taking me out) I shall feel obliged to report on how the zombie apocalypse is gaining strength in my part of the county.
Don't do stupid – it's just not clever.
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